


The Assassin Drabbles

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint/Natasha/Bucky Friendship, Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Mentions of Assassinations, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short drabbles about the three assassins -The Soldier, The Widow, and the Hawk.</p><p>Their relationship isn't normal. Because nothing about them is normal. But sometimes... That's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a few short drabble pieces I wrote; I may or may not add more as time goes on. Essentially, this is from other members of the Avengers (and Pepper) watching and wondering at the odd interactions between Bucky, Natasha, and Clint.
> 
> Because let's face it: these are not three mentally healthy individuals. They've developed their own coping mechanisms and defenses, and dealing with each other would be one of the few situations where they could be who they actually were without worrying about how others perceived it.
> 
> If people like any of these drabbles, I might be inclined to turn them into their own short chapters, make them longer flesh them out, etc. So if you like any of these, let me know, either with comments or kudos. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. : )

“Hydra’s was obviously far more effective.”

Steve stopped short, hand half frozen above the door knob to the gym, heart beating madly at Bucky’s words.

“Please. Zola’s programming left you with minimal autonomous thought –if any, outside of mission parameters,” Natasha’s voice was dismissive, moments before Steve heard a soft ‘oomph’ that meant one or the other of the two had hit the mat.

Bucky scoffed loudly, and Steve could faintly hear the whirring of his metal arm as he spoke. “But that autonomy lead to the death or defection of all the Widows within thirty years. Hydra more than _doubled_ that with me alone.”

He could hear the concession in Natasha’s voice, as she said, “Point. But consider that _twenty-eight_ Widows went active, and stayed active for those thirty years. You were the only Soldier; they’ve never been able to duplicate your programming.”

Steve was shocked at the smugness in Bucky’s voice.

“Because one was all they needed. Not only is my kill count far higher, but my target list was a hell of a lot more impressive.”

“But you were only good for sniper assassinations,” Natasha countered. “The Widows could infiltrate, gather intel, poison, and other subtle means.”

“I was _very_ good at gathering intel.”

There’s a feral tone to Bucky’s voice that Steve had never heard before; an edge that made him sick to his stomach when he realized the tone was almost pleased.

“And your targets were broken –and typically dead –husks afterwards,” Natasha said disdainfully. “Half the time my targets didn’t even know I had the information. I could milk a source for months before the kill.”

“I didn’t need months.”

“What about asset life quality?”

Bucky’s grunt –and the resounding yelp of pain from Natasha –was the only response he gave.

“You… can’t even try to argue there,” Natasha’s voice was pained, and a bit breathless.

“The parameters of our programming had negligible differences.” Bucky’s voice was tight, like a piano wire ready to snap. “Physical correction and discipline, psychological breakdowns, mental and physical modification…” His voice trailed off slowly, and there was a full minute of silence before Natasha spoke again.

“So you’re going to tell me disciplinary actions –hell, even what they did for fun –was the same?”

Steve could hear the challenge in Natasha’s voice, daring the Soldier to lie to her. When she got no response, she added, “Don’t forget, James: I watched your ‘programming parameters’.”

Even from outside the room, Steve could feel the chill settling in as Bucky spoke.

“And I _participated_ in yours, Natalia.”

The silence stretched on, with Steve not daring to even breath. He was getting ready to walk away, when he heard Natasha speak again.

“And I’ve never blamed you for it.”

 

* * *

 

Tony watched the three assassins playing cards, feeling a flash of jealousy at their easy camaraderie, and a hint of unease at their relaxed manner.

Barnes, Natasha, and Clint –The Soldier, The Widow, and The Archer –sat around the kitchen island, balancing their chairs on two legs, as they played a complicated Russian game called ‘Durak’, something like a cross between War, Garbage, and maybe Magic, if Tony had to guess. Apparently the two-leg-chair-balance thing was their own little added rule, along with a few other variations he’d noticed over the past few weeks.

“Taiwan. May, 1997,” Clint said, slapping a card down on the table, and glancing at Natasha.

She frowned for a moment, looking at her cards, before glancing back up at Clint. “David Chen? Businessman from Singapore. Strong supporter of giving Singapore back to China. Pass.” At Clint’s unhappy nod, she slapped a card down, and looked over at Bucky. “United Arab Emirates, Abu Dhabi. November, 1987.”

Barnes thought for a moment, picking up another chair leg so he was only balancing on one, before slapping the leg back down with a sharp _clack_. “Joshua Hargrove. American ex-pat. Lawyer for Al Qaeda. Pass.” He flopped a card down casually, before turning his attention to Clint with a sharp smile. “Dallas. November, 1963.”

All four of Clint’s chair legs came down, hard enough that Tony briefly thought he might have to replace the chair. Clint’s face held an equal part of shock, awe, and disbelief.

“You’re out, Clint,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes with a smile.

“No way,” Clint said, pointing a finger at Barnes, before turning his attention back to Natasha. “There’s _no way_ that was him.”

Natasha shrugged. “We were partners at the time, Clint; I can tell you it most certainly was him.” She turned towards Barnes, her face searching for a moment, before it went back to its carefully neutral expression. “I thought they wiped that from you –permanently.”

It was Barnes turn to shrug, reaching up with his flesh hand to tuck an errant piece of hair behind his ear. “Obviously not,” He said, his voice nonchalant, but over his cameras, Tony could detect the small twitch in his hand as he grabbed at his beer.

And Natasha had been his partner? According to all the information Tony had been able to dig up on her –which he’d thought was fairly inclusive, seeing as how she’d leaked S.H.I.E.L.D.’s entire database online –she was born in 1984.

“That’s… interesting.” Which of course was Natasha-code for ‘that-just-blew-my-mind-how-much-do-you-remember?’.

 

* * *

 

Pepper squeaked a little as she bumped into Natasha.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” She said quickly, trying to keep her voice quiet as she bent over and started picking up the armload of papers she’d dropped.

Natasha gave her that blank smile she was so famous for as she knelt down and began helping. “No, it was my fault. What’re you doing up here this late?”

Pepper chuckled as she stood up, accepting the papers from Natasha gratefully. “Trying to ferret out where Tony’s hiding.” At Natasha’s raised eyebrows, she explained. “It’s the end of the month.”

Natasha nodded instantly. Everyone knew that bills, contracts, negotiations, payroll, and the budget paperwork were due at the end of the month. Just like they knew that Tony avoided the work like the plague.

“What’re you doing up here? Isn’t this…” Pepper’s free hand shot up to her mouth, as she felt her cheeks turning red from embarrassment. “Ohmygosh, Nat, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I mean…” It had occurred to her at that moment that Natasha’s room was on the next floor up, along with Steve, Rhodes, and Sam; this floor held Clint, Maria Hill, Sharon Carter, and a few other S.H.I.E.L.D. ex-pats.

Nat smiled again. “It’s fine, Pepper. While we might not broadcast it, we don’t hide it either,” She said casually. “I’ll help you find Stark,” She added, grabbing half the paperwork back out of Pepper’s hands as she started trailing back out towards the main rooms.

“Thank you. But I, uh… I thought Clint was… I mean he has…” Pepper trailed off, mentally smacking herself for her inability to leave anything alone.

Natasha’s smile this time was smaller, but more real. “Yes, he’s married. Yes, he has kids. Yes, Laura knows.”

“And… she’s… okay with it?” Pepper asked timidly.

Natasha shrugged. “Laura knows that there’s certain things she can’t do for Clint. She knows I can. What Clint and I do… It’s what allows him to go home and be a family man three weeks out of the month.” The corners of her mouth turned up a bit as she added, “Laura’s very… _nice_.”

Pepper could feel her cheeks turning red again as her mind started filling in the blanks. After all, there were only so many things they could be doing at two in the morning in Clint’s bedroom, and there were only so many things to infer from there.

“And… Sgt. Barnes?”

Natasha’s smile went blank again. “Sgt. Barnes and I have a… similar relationship and deal in place. We can do things for –and to –each other that other people can’t.”

“Or that you can only do with people you trust.”

At Natasha’s coolly appraising look, Pepper wished she had kept her mouth shut.

“That’s right. There’s not too many people we trust. Or too many people who can withstand the amount of physical abuse we can.”

“But…”

“I think you’ll find Stark hiding down in the weight room,” Natasha said suddenly, giving her the blank smile again. “Have a nice evening, Pepper.”

 

* * *

 

Thor watched the three assassins from the spectator stands –although why, exactly, a gym would need spectator stands still escaped his grasp.

At the moment, all three of them were standing still. So still, in fact, that they could have been as lifeless as some of the statues on Asgard.

“Ten dollars says Natasha moves first.”

Thor glanced down at the people in the rows closest to the gym mat. There were always a few people in the stands when The Avengers practiced, but he’d noticed that it seemed like far more people were there whenever the Soldier, the Hawk, and the Widow practiced.

While Thor himself occasionally practiced with the other Avengers on the mats, he’d never practiced with these three. Even as he watched, Natasha moved first, leaping towards Barton with a well-placed flying kick, that he easily ducked, returning with a kick to the back of the knee himself, moments before Sgt. Barnes’ flesh fist connected with Barton’s ribcage.

These three… They didn’t ‘practice’ as Thor understood the word. He’d practiced with everyone else in the towers –from the Avengers themselves, down to the guards who occasionally showed up –but the three assassins were…

Brutal.

He winced in sympathy as he heard Sgt. Barnes shoulder dislocate with a loud ‘pop’, moments before Natasha threw him across the mat.

As far as he could tell, the only concession to non-injury these three made were no weapons, and Sgt. Barnes never used the full power of his non-flesh arm –a necessary concession, as Thor had received a blow once from that arm, and it had been enough to make him hesitant to repeat the experience.

Natasha was out now –Thor had to stop himself from moving to where she lay on the edge of the mat, her lips returning to their normal shade as soon as Barton’s chokehold had been released. He leaned forward a bit as the two remaining combatants sized each other up.

Barton faked going left, but Sgt. Barnes countered with an uppercut to the jaw that had to make the archer see stars. But apparently, that had been part of the plan, as his own arms lashed out, and yanked the soldier over him, and onto the mat.

With that, Thor stood, and began making his way out of the gymnasium. He had no need –or desire –to watch the bloodbath that was sure to follow.

His understanding of humans might have been a bit… strained, he’d be the first to admit. But the three assassins all seemed to be very good friends off of the mats. They spent most of their free time together, laughed together, and drank together –all signs of close brotherhood.

But he’d never seen friends injure friends in such a manner.

It was… confusing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eh, something I wrote up real quick, and it really didn't fit on its own, so I decided to put this up here. Wrote it in a coffee-induced insomnia episode last night, so I apologize if it's craptastic.

It’s coldly efficient, beautifully brutal, deadly and graceful.

It’s not Bucky, is all Steve can think.

His Bucky threw wild haymakers. He was a scrapper -one of those guys who might only land one in five hits, but that one was going to knock you on your ass. He was a sniper; he’d told Steve enough times that getting into a fist fight as a sniper meant you’d failed something miserably.

But this new Bucky, who fought with him, Natasha, Clint, Sam, and Ant-Man to bring down HYDRA was a whole other thing. He specifically keeps himself from thinking monster, or machine, because, hell, that’s just wrong.

But it’s also true.

This Bucky uses his metal arm like a battering ram, and a shield, while his flesh hand breaks bones, and lashes out again and again, leaving a pile of bodies in their wake. Perhaps, the worst part, is how satisfied Bucky looks with himself afterwards.

“You missed one, Barnes.”

Both Bucky and Steve whirl their heads around, spotting Clint leaning in one corner, lazily wiping one of his arrows on his pant leg, before pointing towards a man, wearing a lab coat, and trying to crawl out from underneath a body.

The look on Bucky’s face is positively feral, animalistic, as he reaches out with both hands, leaning down, and snaps the man’s neck. The look on his face afterwards is almost… Steve resists the urge to shudder, as the only word that comes to mind is ‘pleased’.

“Thanks, Barton.”

“No problem.”

Steve is trying to understand this new Bucky. But he’s struggling, and he knows it. He expected Bucky to be broken, shattered, buried alive under the weight of what he’d done. But he’s not. And Bucky seems to know how disappointed that makes Steve. After a week, he’d moved from Steve’s apartment into Clint and Natasha’s suite, and the three of them had formed some weird relationship, where they seemed to feed the worst aspects of each other.

“Impressive, James.” Natasha’s voice held an edge of admiration, cutting through Steve’s thoughts as she sashayed into the room, taking in the carnage. “But while you boys were playing, Mommy was off working hard as usual.”

Both Bucky and Clint scoff loudly, while Steve refrains himself to an eyeroll as Natasha holds up a small thumb drive (and Steve is so impressed that he knew what the little thing was called, although he’ll never tell the others that).

“Congratulations, Nat: you defeated a computer. Hope you didn’t break a nail,” Clint says, inspecting an arrow before shoving it back in his quiver.

“Well, seeing as how I’m the only one here who can operate a computer without a manual,” Natasha throws back, daintily stepping over the carnage, as she tucks the thumb drive into a small pocket in her pants. “Did you boys find anything?”

“Bodies. With holes in them,” Bucky says, a small grin on his face as he looks at Clint. “At least a few.”

Clint rolls his eyes as he starts down the hallway, the others falling into place behind him. “Oh yeah, ‘cause it takes so much skill to bash somebody’s brain in with the equivalent of a metal two by four.”

“You’re just angry because I got more than you.”

“Did not!” There’s a few seconds pause, before Clint turns around. “What were you at?”

“Twenty-nine. Not counting that last one; I’ll let you have that one.”

Clint cusses under his breath, turning and walking again. “It’s not fair. I should get a handicap at this; you and Nat both have that damn serum. I’m just a lowly, weak mortal, with nothing but pure skill to back me up.”

“My heart bleeds for you, old man.”

“What? You don’t get to call me old; you’re like… a hundred!”

“Firstly, I ain’t a hundred; Even if I’d been awake the whole time, I’d still only be ninety-two. Secondly, figuring how long I was in cryo, I’m actually only like twenty-three. Natalia’s old, though. You gotta be, what, eighty something?”

Natasha reaches over, and swats him on the back of the head lightly as they move through the hallways. “It’s not polite to ask a woman’s age, James.”

Steve can only shake his head, trying to divert his eyes from the bodies littering the hallways.

These are the days when he thinks that having this new Bucky back might be worse than losing his Bucky.


End file.
